All of You and I
by Apocalyptic Mirage
Summary: Consider this, then. If we'd gone on and never had met, if we'd met and never spoke, if we'd spoke and never cared, or if we cared and never acted on it, then my life would be miserable because it would be without you, who I've grown to love endlessly. (Fluff)


Consider this, then.

If we'd gone on and never had met,

if we'd met and never spoke,

if we'd spoke and never cared,

or if we cared and never acted on it,

then my life would be miserable

because it would be without you,

who I've grown to love endlessly.

Beginnings are either really easy or so very not, and ours fell with certainty in the _not_. I may have, in my childhood ignorance, actually hated you and your vapidness, and I laugh about it now because there couldn't be things further from the truth, my dear. I have grown, and grown into loving you. It's a role I take dutifully because it feels like the thing I'm meant to do. That is my honor. People may not see it fit as my greatest accomplishment, and it can't be because it is way to simple (now) to be that, but it's hard to argue that it isn't a great accomplishment when I see it rewarded so graciously with your eyes on me, returning every ounce of adoration I have poured onto you in our time together.

Everything is poetry.

It could be sad.

It could be harsh.

It could be brutal and unforgiving.

But it can be wonderful.

It can be.

And when it's good,

regardless,

it is always beautiful.

There are those the moments... They're vivid in themselves, and in the end when what you're doing has become what you done, you feel differently about it all. Maybe you wouldn't change anything about them because they make you who you are, but it is in the ones that you feel the same toward, exactly the same, that you _find_ yourself. I have found myself in you. Every moment about you was a moment I would preserve entirely. All the emotions, though every one of them was as strong as a hailstorm, would be felt again, and over if I could. Ours is a love story that I'd have weathered and beaten on my nightstand and never shelved because I wouldn't put it down long enough for it to have a proper spot.

Pull me through your pages

Let me riffle with your words

I'll put together something new

So we can have a better look

Oh sweet, beautiful, poetry,

What would my life be without you?

I found you on a day that was absolutely ordinary. It was almost uncomfortable walking in so emotionally heavy in my heart while you were there so casually. I also had to keep my face from splitting in two at the smile. You were, or at least you should have been, used to me smiling around you so ordinarily. We can't be happy at all times because we are human, but if the little things won't make you smile regardless, well... I haven't learned a thing in my life.

You pull a smile to answer mine, and I lean in. You tip your head up to catch my lips. Kissing, just kissing, is a wonder than can't be overstated in its pleasurable simpleness. It can't be just a kiss, though, I realize as the gentle caress of my cheeks have turned to insistent pulling at my shirt collar. When I fall on top of you in compliance to the pull, I almost panic. Everything, or specifically _the_ thing, is still in place, however, so I let myself enjoy you feeling up the column of my neck, scraping against the roots of my hair in the most frazzling way. Your fingers feel cool against my skin, cooler the higher they get, and then warmer on the way down.

Everything about you shifts in and out of focus. There's your hands, and then them against my shoulder. There's your lips, and then it's your tongue in my mouth. It's your insistence, and then mine. It's your breath, and then mine.

The scent of your favorite bath soap and preferred hair products are strong on your skin and in your blonde hair that I push away from your face to take my kissing down that path. Nothing stops you from vocalizing your appreciation. We've worked hard for that freedom.

Carefully on my part, I guide you down until you rest against the pillows, pushing you gently with my hand, and letting it drag downward. Loose locks of my brown hair fall from the restraint and hang, tickling the edges of your face, and you laugh. My hands clamp at your hips, and press upward. You squeeze tightly at where the front of my shirt buttons, concentrating on the feel that wanders up the plain of your stomach. It's a paced trail, indulging sparingly, until I can't help myself to not revel in it. I savor it. I am fully enjoying myself in a way that must allow you to as well because you do nothing but encourage it. You undo the topmost button.

I manage to pull back from the insisting, despite how it's intensified. You pick up from there with only room to advance, outdoing my efforts at once. The right corner of my collar is peeled away from my skin and the sensation of your heart-shaped lips replaces it gently before growing into something searingly passionate.

Somewhere in the ambient noises, all rather irrelevant in the bubble of indifference we've created in ourselves, is a rainfall. That's just perfect, isn't it? Everything felt perfect, and I suppose that's why I was doing it.

What you were doing was marvelous. I crooned to tell you so, and I stole you away from it to kiss you once more, solidly. My forehead bumped yours, then there were noses to deal with, and teeth, but with you it isn't awkward. You're no saint, and it bothers you sometimes when you get frustrated, when we don't quite meld or adjust ideally, and you're impatient. Overall, however, you are very understanding. It was how I fell comfortable with it all, and when it's not, I'm not ashamed of pointing it out so we can do better.

Neither of us can quite care to be distracted from the enjoyment for now. Forth and back, we continue until absolutely breathless and we must break. Meeting again, and pulling apart, the sounds of it are euphoric, and the actions fall steadily until I bring them to a halt entirely. I leave you confused.

There's a crooked, sly sort of smirk on my face before it goes back to that simple-pleasure smile. I wait.

Odd how surprised you looked when I pulled the token out from the left pocket of my shirt, which you were so anxious to pull off moments ago, now forgotten as your hands lose their grip on the fabric. The thoughts fly by so fast behind the eyes trying to take it all in. Love, did you really not see this coming? I should feel insulted.

"Well?" I would tease if I didn't suddenly feel the doubt come on, because that does happen.

There are dark moments that threaten to swallow you whole as if the light never existed in the first place. It's a curious thing, really, because darkness is defined as the absence of light. It literally exists only because of what it is meant to lack. If that isn't the saddest thing... But this of course means that darkness doesn't really exist. It is simply an absence. Like the doubt. It's not a thing, it is a lack of something... proof, evidence, reassurance.

"...So you can never doubt me," I finally speak. It comes out delicately. My eyes are so locked on you, unsure of where to settle, but my gaze entirely on you, purposefully so. My face is resolute in its serenity. It is my faith in us that reassures me. This was a promise to take an oath just to affirm that which I was already certain about.

"Marry me, Fleur?" I ask just to be sure I've got the message across. I squeeze and twist the ring only the slightest bit. My smile doesn't waver. It is clear now that you did not, in fact, see this coming, but I don't let that distract me from the inkling I had that was confident of the outcome.

You not seeing it coming turned out to be an understatement. The expression that erupted was one threatening to tear like you never thought this day would never come. Those happy sort of tears that were so heartbreakingly beautiful in your pretty, blue eyes. You brush the right side of your face with your hands and breath in an shuddering breath that turns into a delighted laugh, a relieved sort of smile. You wet your lips with your tongue.

"I- yes... Yes, of course, oh, Hermione..." you touch your other hand to your mouth.

It is vastly surpassing kissing as the most invaluable simple pleasure: the perfect answer. My contentment skyrocketed into elation.

The both of us were smiling, and laughing at ourselves when you kissed me with my face secure between your hands to punctuate the sincerity of your reply.

We reveled in the pleasure of each other and bringing each other pleasure. Somewhere between kissing, feeling, tasting, going over every freckle, beauty-mark and scar alike, ravishing and appreciating your body as it is, and as I view it: flawlessly, I slip the silver band onto your finger properly. Another will replace it when the day, whenever it is, comes, but this was something that resonated permanence. This was something that sealed our forever. Nothing will ever bring me more joy than knowing you and I were in it for the long-run, and we were taking it head-on, confident, and gladly.


End file.
